The Face of Another - Kobo Abe [72]
I am not going so far as to say that all masked actors have criminal tendencies. It is also true that a certain head clerk of a well-known general affairs section, though he actually demonstrates a pre-eminent genius by showing special interest in costumed processions on company excursions, is on the contrary an uncommon optimist, quite satisfied with his present situation.… However, if we realize that this law-abiding every-day life is definitely not as safe as the world of crime, we still might have nothing to do with criminals—but it is doubtful. It is unbelievable that there are people who have never once in their lives wanted to be transparent beings, who live in a world where they would be lost if they ever forgot a single one of the many things one has to do: assiduously punching the time clock every day, having personal seals made, ordering calling cards, saving money, measuring collar sizes, collecting autographs, taking out life insurance, registering real estate, writing Christmas cards, pasting photographs on identity papers.… Somehow, for a brief moment, I seemed to have dropped off into a doze. A wind had apparently sprung up, and I was awakened by the noise of the shutters. My headache and my nausea seemed better, but I was still not completely recovered.
I wanted to take a bath, but unfortunately the water pressure was low and there would not be enough to rise to the second story. I decided to try the public bath. After hesitating between the mask or my bandages, I finally decided to go out with the mask. I was hesitant about the impression the bandages would make on my fellow bathers. And I also liked trying the mask in all kinds of situations. (When I put it on, my pluck returned at once.) As I was searching through the pockets of my coat for my wallet, my hand touched something hard. The air pistol … and the gold yoyo. Thinking that I might see the superintendent’s daughter on the way out, I wrapped the yoyo up with my soap and towel and went out.
Unfortunately, I did not meet the girl. I did not anticipate any particular trouble, but I gave the neighborhood public bath a wide berth and set out toward some baths a bus stop away, at the next intersection. Since the place had just opened, there were few bathers and the water was still clean. As I soaked in the pool to rid myself of the last of my hangover, submitting to the steam, I was suddenly aware of a man wearing a black shirt in a corner on the other side. No, it was not a shirt, but tattooing! I could not make out the design very well in that light, but he gave the impression of wearing a fish skin.
At first, I tried as much as possible not to look, but I could not take my eyes away. The pattern did not particularly bother me, but the very idea of tattooing left me at a loss, like a name on tip of the tongue.
Perhaps I felt here a true kinship with my mask. Surely the mask and tattooing have a surprising element in common: they both seek to bring about a transformation by obliterating the real skin. But of course, there were points of difference too. Fundamentally the mask was something removable, but tattooing was assimilated and incorporated into the skin. The mask, moreover, furnished an evasion of reality, but tattooing, of course, was an effort to make oneself obvious and showy. If it were a question of conspicuousness, my scar webs would be second to nothing.
Nevertheless, what I did not understand was why in heaven’s name one would go to such lengths to be conspicuous. Of course, the man himself would probably not be able to answer such a question as that—I suppose being conspicuous was meaningful to him, precisely because he could not answer. By and large, there are many monstrous individuals who, liking riddles, pose meaningless problems and make a business of forcing people who are unable to answer to pay a forfeit.… There also appears to be some problematic